Star Trek: Fearless - Wide Black Yonder

Introduction

This story came about from a combination of re-reading the first two Honour Harrington novels and the rather excellent Lost Era tale 'Serpents Among the Ruins' by David R. George III, and regaining contact with my good friend Adrian over at http://www.uss-sheffield.co.uk/, where he writes about the change in attitudes and technology from Kirk-Trek to Picard-Trek.

The former made me want to tell the tale — any tale — about a Starfleet ship called Fearless. Lo and behold I remembered that Trek does indeed have its own Fearless, and she's a ship class I want to tell a story about, with a registry number low enough that I could place her adventures anywhere in the 24th century.

The latter made me want to tell a story around these Interim Years, when the Fearless would be one of the prime ships of the Star Fleet, one that people would scramble to be noticed to get aboard. At first I thought of a story set after the Tomed Incident and concurrent with the missions of the USS Sheffield, but with that I still had no clue about what story I wanted to tell.

Then I re-read 'Serpents Among the Ruins', which describes the Tomed Incident in precise detail, and starts off the book with a sense of foreboding that war with the Romulans had been coming for years.

Suddenly, I had it. I'd write the backstory for this book. Fearless would deal with the gradual encroachment into ordinary life that an seemingly inevitable conflict would bring. How a conflict could become "seemingly inevitable" in the first place.

Many thanks to Adrian for suggesting a crossover/joint venture. You'll find many of his creations in the following stories, such as supply station Aljetarius/Starbase 77, Nirophia and the self-named Corridor, and the astropolitical scenery on its far side amongst others. Deftly woven into this tapestry are my own crew for Aljetarius and its revised history.

So, here we go. A voyage into the unknown, in true Kirk-to-Picard style. Let me know if you like it. Have fun with this, because we sure are!

Chapter One

          Captain’s Log, stardate 12303.65.

          The Fearless has been re-assigned to Sector 16 after the successful completion
          of our trouble-shooting mission to Melana III on the Klingon border. Sector 16 is a 
          previously unimportant region of space first charted in the 2180s and only recently 
          gaining prominence with the Metar Crisis of the early 2290s. Now, it is the staging 
          point for a new wave of exploration into the more populated sectors ‘below’ the 
          Klingon and Romulan Empires. 

          This date marks the first anniversary of the completion of our shakedown cruise and 
          I am pleased to note that after almost fifteen months in commission my ship is 
          responding at 105% efficiency, and my crew has become akin to a well-oiled machine. 
          The scores of Federation races comprising my crew — many of whom I’ve never 
          served with before — quickly settled in together and over the intervening year have 
          built upon that solid foundation to become one of the finest crews I have served with.

          Commander Faris has proven to be quite the asset as my XO, displaying an uncanny 
          ability with people skills; he seems to instinctively know the mood of the crew and has 
          his fingers on the pulse of the ship’s lounge. Many times over the last year he has 
          adeptly defused minor incidents that threatened to disrupt ship’s routine had a less 
          involved XO been unaware of them or dismissed them as ‘outwith the scope of their 
          duties’.

          This has, however, resulted in the man being labelled what the Humans call “a 
          gossipy old woman”, though fortunately meant in an affectionate manner.

          Chief Engineer L’Trell reports no major maintenance needs though, as usual, his wish 
          list does seem to be as bottomless as the Void itself. He apparently attended the 
          ‘Montgomery Scott School of Tweaking and Jury-rigging’, but this is why the Fearless 
          has an efficiency rating of 105% and not the Fleet average of 97%.

          Lieutenants Gemignani and Xirral both concur that the crew’s mental health are also 
          above the standard, with the holosimulator, gymnasium, games rooms, and computer 
          library access usage reflecting only the normal pursuits of a diverse group of over-
          achievers; no disquieting trends are evident among the crew’s recreational activities.

          Taken as a whole, my ship and her crew stand ready to face whatever the galaxy 
          decides to send our way.

“Lieutenant Murdoch, a moment of your time,” Commander L’Trell called out from his office in Engineering, sounding distracted.

The slender, strawberry-blonde assistant chief engineer clapped Specialist Aziz on his shoulder and strode over to her boss’ office, wondering what was up.

“Just give me a moment, Steph… finishing something up here…”

“Fair enough, Boss,” she replied from the other side of his desk, and turned to gaze at the contained annihilation that was their warp reactor.

“Ah-HA! Tharrr’s the little hairrrball!” Chief Engineer L’Trell cried triumphantly, trilling his ‘r’s enough to make any Scot feel at home.

Lieutenant Stephanie Murdoch started, surprised despite herself. Swinging back around to face him, she queried, “What little hairball is that, Sir?”

“That damned illegal still we’ve been chasing all over the ship for so long. They set it back up in an area we’d just swept a tenday ago.” He swung his monitor around and pointed at the scan results with a claw. “And there we have them.”

Stephanie took in the details on the screen. All it showed was a red dot on the ship schematics; there was no indication of the search parameters. “Sir, are you sure? I mean, look where it is! They’d have to be completely off their heads to set it up there!”

Korta L’Trell’s gold-flecked amber eyes narrowed as he focussed on the scan display. “Where better to hide something than the last place anyone would look, Lieutenant?” the big Caitian engineer murmured, half admiring, half annoyed. “Yes, it is dangerous, but only if something goes wrong. The way this is apparently set up indicates considerable thought was put into not compromising the safety of the ship, so it’s unlikely the still would cause anything. But if something does go wrong there, they’re not really going to be worrying about getting caught.”

Yeah, ‘cause the ship could disappear in a flash of liberated atoms, Stephanie thought as she appeared to mull it over. “I suppose so, Sir. But what makes you sure it’s there?”

L’Tell was tempted to reply “Because we’ve already spent a year looking everywhere else for it”, but that wouldn’t have been very conducive to his department’s morale or his own self image. Stifling that thought and the sigh that accompanied it, he told his assistant, “It’s all in the details, Lieutenant. You Humans say God and the Devil are in there, and it is there that our very clever, very sneaky individual slipped up.”

Stephanie’s pheromonal output changed ever so slightly, but Korta was scenting for it and so caught it. Without missing a beat, he told her, “Congratulations, Steph, you hid it well.”

“Tha—Sir?” His second-in-command stumbled over her reply, then realised the jig was up and relaxed. “Awww Hell. When, ah, did ye find oot, Sir?”

Korta cleared his scan results and turned to face her, wagging a long, claw-tipped finger at her. “Never taunt a king in his own realm, Steph. You may have a good laugh tugging his tail, but you need to know just when to let go to prevent him sinking his teeth into you in the end. And big cats have big teeth,” he admonished her, only half playfully, while baring his own fangs.

“With respect, Sir, that’s not an answer,” his assistant replied impudently.

“You are correct, soon-to-be Tech 3rd-class Murdoch!” L’Trell rumbled mightily, scowling at the brazen Scots’ lass. “What I don’t tell you can’t be used against me later. Now! You know that the operation of a ‘hooch still’ is strictly against Regulations and punishable by many, many horrible means at my disposal, and many, many more in the claws of the XO.” He looked at her meaningfully. “That will be decided upon later. For now, I go to claim my prize.”

Damn, Stephanie thought with an internal grimace. There goes my chance of distracting you and having Norampac break the still down and spirit away the evidence! Ah well, she thought philosophically, it’s a fair cop, and I did lead him on a merry chase for a year. Or rather, a game of hide and seek.

“Come along then, Lieutenant, and stop thinking of scheming your way out of this.”

Stephanie essayed a bright grin. “To the victor go the spoils, Sir. And you won fair and square.”

As they headed to the turbolift, L’Trell queried, “A lesson learned, Mr. Murdoch? Or are you a lost cause?”

“Oh, I learned something, Sir, no mistake there,” Stephanie responded cheerfully.

The turbolift doors closed on her grin and his frown.

“The far aft end of the port nacelle catwalk?” Commander Faris asked incredulously. “Did I hear you correctly?”

“You heard correctly, Commander,” Security Chief Daquillon confirmed bemusedly for the XO. “I wouldn’t have believed it had I not seen it for myself, Sir, but there it was, with Chief L’Trell looking like the cat who’d gotten the cream and holding tightly on to his assistant.”

“Lieutenant Murdoch is a most ingenious person,” Khaleel commented in admiring tones. “It is not surprising that Korta wishes to hold onto her services despite her extra-curricular activities. However, disciplinary action will have to be taken. We just cannot have real ‘hooch’ being brewed on the ship!”

“Especially for the newbies and youngsters who have no idea that this isn’t their daddy’s scotch,” Frédéric opined wryly.

Khaleel shot his friend a look. An edge entered his voice as he said, “I hope we’re not taking the ‘my, don’t we admire her for being so clever’ routine too far, Daq. This is a serious breach of Regulations.”

“Oh, but of course, mon ami,” the Frenchman replied reassuringly. “Miss Murdoch is currently off duty and confined to quarters pending your decision on whether to take this further or not, Sir.”

“What does L’Trell say?”

“Our estimable Chief Engineer thinks that deterrence has not worked before and will not work again so he wants to assign her double shifts for two months to soak up her extra energy. If she’s consumed by her work, she’ll not have any energy for her extra curricular activities. Either that, or she must go to the Captain’s Mast.”

Khaleel mulled this one over. “Hmmm. I’m not sure I agree with L’Trell. Her previous offences were all minor—”

“L’Trell thinks that the leniency we showed her in the past merely encouraged her to ‘greater things’,” Daquillon broke in. “He thinks it’s come down to either working off her excess energy or a formal reprimand. However, two months’ double shifts are more than he’s allowed to hand out so he wants your approval.”

“Bah.” Khaleel exhaled. “And why isn’t he here instead of you? I would rather have heard this directly from him.”

Frédéric grinned as he answered that. “He is ‘reclaiming his territory’ and ‘reinstating his rule’ there.” At Faris’ uncomprehending expression, Frédéric chuckled. “Yes, yes, I had to ask also. He says he has to show his people that he is in control and doesn’t need to come running to you to prop up his own authority.”

Khaleel nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense, I guess. I don’t think our crew would see him that way, but no one wants to appear ineffectual and having Murdoch — his own second in command — be the culprit and elude him for so long has obviously wounded his pride.”

“He knew it had to be her running the still — ‘hunter’s instincts’, he says, but just knowing the woman is enough,” Daquillon grinned. “But he had no proof and thus no right to monitor her private activities.”

“And so the Great Illegal Distillery Hunt ends,” Faris commented dryly. “Very well, I’ll authorise the punishment detail but make it clear to Murdoch that this is her last chance. After this, any infractions, no matter how minor, go straight to the captain. And that because of her past history it’ll be formal charges. I’d hate to lose so talented an engineer, but her actions must have consequences that are real to her. If she values her career, she’ll rein in her wild side.”

Daquillon disputed that. “If she values her career. A talented engineer is not left hanging for long. The freelance, commercial, or smuggling sector will snap up someone with her skills.”

Khaleel sat back and gestured expansively. “We’ll just have to hope that exploring strange new worlds and playing with such wondrous toys as a brand new Excelsior-class starship can offer is enough to keep her interested.”

“Incoming message from Starbase 59, an Admiral Juan Manuel Barragàn for you Captain,” Lieutenant Paochinda announced from the comm. station.

Hiding a sudden burst of unexpected pleasure, Captain Sheltarah zh’Corithan shifted her attention from the PADD in her hands to the front of the bridge and instructed, “On the main viewer please, Anupong.” The sharp, aristocratic features of Rear Admiral Barragàn coalesced on the viewscreen, showing the man behind his desk on Starbase 59.

“Ah, Captain Tarah, it is good to see you again,” the admiral greeted her warmly. “It’s been some time.”

“Good to see you also, Sir,” the Andorian zhen returned with equal warmth for her old captain. “I hadn’t realised that you’d been assigned to this sector as well.”

“You know the Starfleet Brass; we go where they tell us,” he commented wryly, sharing an old joke despite that he was now one of “the Brass” himself. “I got here about a week before you did. A new sector has been opened up so a few old hands get thrown in amongst all the young ‘uns to make sure they don’t get in over their heads.”

Tarah felt her face heat slightly even as she grinned; she’d been one of those “young ‘uns” herself when she’d heard the then-Commander Barragàn first use it within earshot of and while referring to then-Lieutenant JG Tarah. “As you say, Sir. To what do I owe the honour?”

“Well, apart from gracing you with my inestimable good looks and raffish charm, I’m here to hand you your first assignment as your new sector commander.”

That drew a few rustles from the bridge crew. While several of them were experienced hands, none had served with her at the same time as she’d served with and then under Barragàn. They didn’t know of Tarah’s shared history with him, and quite likely they’d never met such an irreverent flag officer as the irrepressible Argentine. Tarah was glad herself that Juan hadn’t let the Admiralty stultify him. It occurred to her then that it was entirely likely Juan had himself arranged to get this command through a combination of backroom wrangling and the “real” Brass wanting to get him out of their collective hair.

However, if he wasn’t willing to respect decorum and make her blush on the bridge of her own command then turnabout was fair play. Cocking her head off to the left and narrowing her eyes with mischievous enjoyment, she replied, “Well, while you’re not bad-looking for an aging pink-skin, the… distance… between us suggests that such charm, raffish though indeed it may be, is wasted on me. Admiral.”

Someone snickered behind her and it took immense willpower on Tarah’s part not to turn to them. She managed it, though, and smirked at her old captain with a raised eyebrow.

Barragàn’s eyes gleamed with heightened amusement and he grinned. “I don’t know what you could possibly mean by those comments. And I’m sure your bridge crew doesn’t either.”

“Quite. You mentioned something about an assignment for us, Admiral?” Tarah reminded him, getting the conversation back on topic.

“Ahem, yes,” he returned, shooting her a brief look as if to say “you’re no fun” before changing gears himself. “Have you heard of the Nirophian Corridor?”

“That’s the new route they’ve opened up to the far side of Klingon and Romulan space, Sir. By setting up this patrolled route, the Federation will finally gain a major spacelane to the vicinity of Hydran and Sha’Kurian space.”

Barragàn nodded approvingly. “That’s right, Captain. It’s still a long route, but it’s better than what we have now for civilian traffic. As such, the Corridor is going to be come a major trade route into the Beta Quadrant, if — if — we can secure it against belligerence from the Klingons, Romulans, Mira’Kzinti, Lyrans, Orions, and other pirate-types out there. Basically, against all comers.” Juan gave her a wintry smile. “Which is why we chose you and the Fearless, Captain.”

“Excelsior-class starships never get the easy jobs, Admiral, we all understand that,” she replied with more than a touch of pride.

The Excelsior herself may have been commissioned 24 years ago but the class hadn’t been in front-line Fleet service for 20 years yet. There were less than 25 of her sister ships in service and such were the dangers of space that a few of them had already come close to destruction. Only the other major powers had comparable designs in service and those too were few and far between, especially after the regional wars that had engulfed space outside of the Federation’s sphere of influence a decade ago. And the minor players on the galactic stage had no hope of equalling the capability of the Federation’s finest.

Which meant assigning one of the few Queens of the Fleet to the Corridor was a message to all, a statement that the Federation saw this venture as a serious one, and one worth protecting.

“Indeed,” Barragàn replied seriously, for once. “Don’t think that we’re expecting to send you into a war zone or siege situation, Captain. There are no indications of trouble or direct threats in the Corridor or to its expected travellers; but the bigger the pot of honey, the more bears are likely to show up.”

Tarah found she liked the admiral’s metaphor. Especially when she considered that honey was guarded by bees, and bees can sting when threatened.

“Can I expect any support, Sir? The Corridor stretches the entire length of the Klingon-Romulan border. Even with our speed, that’s too much territory for one ship to patrol effectively.”

“Full details are in the briefing I’ll be sending you; we’re putting the finishing touches on it now, but I wanted you to get underway as soon as possible,” Barragàn informed her. “Currently, a few specialist ships are transiting the Corridor to start exploring the new sector opened up to us on the far side. I’ll be assigning you a squadron of cruisers to assist you in your endeavours; it has just been taking a little time to shake loose the people I want for this.”

Tarah’s eyebrows rose in surprise. For a rear admiral that’s a lot of influence. If my suppositions are correct, he got himself this sector commander’s position, arranged to have me and the Fearless assigned to the area, and now he’s selecting cruiser captains as well? She knew that the presence of several powerful, capable, and fast starships would be very beneficial to the region’s stability. Maybe I’m giving him too much credit and it’s just good timing that brings us together.

“Understood, Admiral, thank you,” she replied, ending her ruminations.

Barragàn nodded and continued. “Proceed to supply station Aljetarius, which will be your new home port for the duration of your mission in the Corridor, for some short shore leave for your crew, Captain. This has the likelihood of developing into a long patrol and I want you and your people alert and rested. I’ll be briefing the outpost’s CO, a Commander Skallash, on the situation and that you are the new senior officer for this duty station. Once there, organise a meeting of your staffs and outline a plan of operations.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to wait for the other ship captains to arrive before doing that, Sir?” Tarah enquired, mentally suppressing the urge to ironically correct the admiral with “Don’t you mean ‘Starbase 77’, Sir?”

“Normally, yes,” Barragàn agreed. “But it will take time for the other ships to arrive on station from their previous assignments and I don’t want Fearless standing idly by for a couple of weeks while they all get there.”

“Understood, Admiral. I can assume that you have an immediate first mission for us upon our arrival, then?”

“You can so assume, Captain,” Juan replied with another show of his brilliant white teeth, which contrasted sharply with his olive complexion. “Starfleet Command wants you to pay a diplomatic courtesy call to Nirophia, to let them know which way the wind is now blowing.”

Tarah’s long exposure to Humans and their kin still had not revealed to her that particular turn of phrase, but she correctly deduced its meaning from the context it was used in. “Do you want me to impress upon them the benefits of having the Federation around in place of the Klingons?” she asked.

A look of mild distaste flashed over her friend’s face. “Actually, that is of secondary importance, Captain. The Nirophians are sufficiently lacking in modern infrastructure to make constructing a base in their system of limited value, despite their planet’s strategic location in the Corridor; we could just as easily build it in a neighbouring star system or even deep space. And quite frankly, Captain, their world comes nowhere close to meeting UFP member status.”

Tarah looked at him oddly, a little taken aback by her old friend’s attitude.

He shook his head and added, “Their full details are in the supplementary briefing materials we’ll send you. But your mission there is just to show the flag, be seen, and let them know that they are not alone in this neck of the woods anymore — unless they want to be.”

Still puzzled at the admiral’s behaviour, Tarah decided to go through those materials with a molecular sifter for whatever it was that bothered her friend. To the admiral, she merely nodded and acknowledged her orders. “Very well, Admiral. We’ll get under way immediately.”

“Good. Inform me of your arrival at Aljetarius and let me know your operational plan once you’re happy with it. Beyond that, you’re free to be about your duties. Godspeed, Tarah; it was good to see you again.” Juan’s smile was full of friendship and warmth. “It’ll be just as good to work with you again. Starbase 59, out.”

Tarah felt herself respond in kind to the admiral’s bonhomie, but when the viewscreen switched back to its rendition of Sector 16 at warp she let a frown crumple her powder-blue features. “Set course for Aljetarius, Helm, and give me an ETA at warp eight.”

“At warp eight, we will reach the Aljetarius system in approximately seven-point-three-four hours, Captain,” the soft, even voice of Lieutenant T’Serris announced from the Helm.

“Acceptable,” Tarah commented briefly, distracted by her internal musings. “Warp speed, Mr. T’Serris.”

“Acknowledged,” the willowy Vulcan woman replied and turned the great ship towards her new destination with a sure and practiced touch on the controls.

Tarah felt the vibrations in the deck increase in pitch as the massive warp reactor that was the beating heart of her ship cycled up from a leisurely warp five to a more brisk pace. She allowed that sensation to fade from her awareness as she pondered her orders.

Juan, old friend, I know you too well. You find the Nirophians personally objectionable, that much is obvious. But you’re too much of a Starfleet officer to broadcast to my whole bridge crew in the way you did, unless…

The more she gnawed at it, the more unsettled she became. It had been many years since the two of them had seen each other but they’d dropped right back into their old way of relating to each other.

And if that is so, his reactions to my Nirophian mission was… low-level anger… at the Nirophians but on my behalf… He’s being protective of me, she realised suddenly, unfamiliar with the concept after so long in its absence.

She inwardly cursed and grumbled, her hackles and curiosity raised. You’d better hurry up with those ‘supplementary briefing materials’, Juan.

Chapter Two

Several hours later Sheltarah was taking a quick power nap in her quarters when her desk com chimed for attention. Smoothly transitioning to full wakefulness, she rose from her bed to hang over the desk terminal screen.

“This is the captain,” she announced on opening an audio only channel.

The handsome visage of Christopher Jamieson appeared on the one-way video. “Captain, transmission received from Starbase 59 for you. No message or comm. link, just a file packet,” the Beta shift comm. officer reported.

“Queue it to my ready room terminal please, Mr. Jamieson. I’ll be there momentarily. Captain, out.”

She straightened and swept her long dark auburn hair behind her ears then performed a few light callisthenics to work out any muscle kinks and get her blood moving. A quick sonic shower and fresh uniform later and she was on her way to the bridge.

“Log me back on duty, Mr. Jamieson,” she instructed the JG as she crossed the bridge on her way to her ready room.

“Aye, Sir,” the lean African-American responded in his slightly reedy voice.

Settling into her comfortable desk chair, Sheltarah accessed her personal file queue and brought up Starbase 59’s data packet. The files weren’t very large, but there were a lot if them on a broad range of topics.

Going to be here for a while, she realised. Tapping her combadge, Sheltarah announced “Captain to Yeoman McTavish.”

“McTavish here, Capt’n,” the response came back almost instantly. “Whit can Ah do ye fur, Sir?”

“Alec, could you bring up my usual, please?”

“Nae tother a ba’, Capt’n,” the cheerful Scot replied. “Be right up.”

“Thank you, Alec. Captain out.”

After a year of this, Tarah had long ago stopped feeling guilty or even uncomfortable about having a steward bring her food and drink she could easily have gotten herself. The fact that Petty Officer 1st Class Alexander McTavish readily accepted such as part of his everyday duties and didn’t see himself — or, more importantly, let himself be treated — as a menial went a long way towards making his captain comfortable with it.

Sheltarah, however, thought it would be a good idea for starships with a surplus of power like the Excelsior class to have a personal food synthesiser installed into their captains’ workspace, which would allow her to get her own food without carrying it the length and breadth of the ship. She had already put a recommendation to that effect in to Starfleet Command for their consideration, but didn’t expect to get a reply anytime soon.

Sheltarah was deep into her familiarisation with the region’s cartography when McTavish arrived with her ‘usual’. Giving the black-haired Scot a warm look and a friendly, Human-style smile, she thanked the Neo Caledonian sincerely and returned to her studies as he left.

The locations of the inhabited star systems, navigational hazards, and other places of note now firmly entrenched in her head, Tarah turned to the ‘supplementary briefing materials’ Juan had mentioned on the Nirophians, unable to restrain her curiosity any longer. She saw to her surprise that all of the Nirophian data was of non-Federation origin; specifically, it came from the Klingons. No Federation personnel had yet been to Nirophia. They would be the first.

Sipping on her Alphan mochaccino, she took in the dry statistics of landmasses, water coverage, gravity, population, tech level, and such, and found nothing noteworthy. The recent historical section revealed that the opening of the Nirophian Corridor was preceded by the withdrawal of a Klingon garrison on the planet, which had been emplaced with a team of technicians to monitor the sensor tracking array that had been set up just outside of the star system, outside of planetary interference. An old Bird of Prey had been stationed here as well for any of the array’s maintenance needs and for local defence.

This species fell within the standard humanoid range for bodyform and intelligence, had two sexes, and currently rated around a broad ‘F’ on the Richter Scale of Culture. They had apparently fared better than most under a Klingon occupation, but this was entirely due to the Klingons’ own complete lack of interest in anything the planet or its people had to offer, apart from its location as an outer sensor picket.

The level of interaction the Klingon garrison had maintained with the Nirophians was actually less than what they’d had with the inhabitants of their conquered Hydran worlds, where the Klingons needed environment suits to visit the planet and vice versa for Hydrans visiting the orbital stations because the Hydrans were methane breathers.

Referring back to the planetary statistics, she could see why this was; despite having a surface area around a half larger than Andor, the local gravity was only 0.77g. Which indicates a metal-poor planet, Sheltarah knew. No resources worth mining to speak of, so no interest in the planet itself. That’s Klingon magnanimity in action: You don’t have anything we want, we won’t waste our time raping your planet.

Even a decade into this new era of rapprochement with the Federation’s long-time enemies, some of the older guard of Starfleet still found it hard to view the Klingons as anything other than a barbarian horde equipped with starships and particle-beam weaponry. Sheltarah was one of these, having come up through the ranks on the Klingon border in the tumultuous last quarter of the 23rd century.

The Andorian captain chided herself for letting her mind wander, and dragged her attention back to the sparse material of the briefing. Reading through the report and looking more closely at the cultural data on the Nirophians themselves, Tarah instantly found the reason for Juan’s fit of protectiveness.

“Ah, Hell,” she swore softly to herself. “Religious technophobes.” She carefully read though all the information the Starbase 59 staff had managed to prise out of the Klingons and compile from any other sources on Nirophians’ culture and society. Even exercising this caution it still took her barely five minutes to read through it all.

Sheltarah leaned back in her chair and massaged her jaw muscles with both hands, offering relief from her bad habit of clenching her jaw in absent-minded concentration.

Absolutely fabulous, she thought disgustedly. A first contact situation with a planet full of fervently religious nature worshippers who hate technology. No wonder the Klingons avoided them! Not only that, but also a class system that has people without spots on their foreheads being treated as vassals by people with spots on their foreheads!

The enticing smell of her mochaccino suddenly re-registered in her awareness and she gratefully distracted herself by sipping the hot, sweet beverage. She stared out of her viewport and considered her mission.

This is all we have on them beyond close-range orbital scans of the planet itself, and the Klingons supplied even that! My ship will be the first Federation presence and people these Nirophians will have seen, and we’re literally arriving in a boat-load of technology!

The Klingons just showed up and set up camp. We have to ask to be allowed down. Why in the worlds would people who eschew technology even want to talk with a high-technology society? Sheltarah sighed in frustration. This world is a classic example of a Prime Directive-protected society. If the Klingons hadn’t already occupied their planet they still would be. But as the only inhabitable planet in Sector 16334 they are a fishing hole in the ice sheet of space. We’re likely going to need them at some point or another for something.

“Hell!” she cursed again, more loudly. Sheltarah liked using alien swear words. They weren’t her swear words so she didn’t feel as guilty using them as her own Andorii curses, and swearing helped relieve her frustration somewhat.

She swung back around to face her terminal screen again and took another satisfying swig of her mochaccino.

Let’s finish this and see how we can complete this mission.

“Now entering standard orbit around Aljetarius, Captain,” T’Serris announced quietly.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Sheltarah acknowledged her helmsman. “Hail the base, Mr. Paochinda. I want to speak to Commander Skallash.”

“Hailing him now, Sir,” the diminutive Thai man responded as he operated his controls. A few moments later he announced, “Commander Skallash is responding. On main viewer,” he finished, nodding to the front of the bridge.

Sheltarah turned back in time to see the coarsely-furred visage of a Tellarite male replace the image of the blue and green world he was stationed on.

“Captain Tara, I presume?” he asked without preamble.

Sheltarah fought the urge to correct him on the pronunciation of her name, not wanting to get into an argument right away if she could help it, but her XO immediately stepped in to resolve the faux pas.

From his position at the helmsman’s left, he looked up and stated, “I am Commander Faris Khaleel, Commander; First Officer of the Fearless. This—”

He indicated his CO, sitting in the centre seat with a tilt of his head.

“—is Captain Tarah.”

Skallash glared myopically at the XO. “That’s who I was talking to, Commander,” he managed not to snarl back.

Stepping in with a nod of thanks to Khaleel, Tarah got everyone back on track. “Commander Skallash, you have been briefed on our purpose here by Starfleet Command?”

“Yes, Captain,” was the Tellarite’s short answer. Despite its brevity, Tarah could tell that Skallash wasn’t happy about that briefing. Most likely due to him being replaced as senior officer on this duty station, she mused, and how he’d hoped his career would advance along with the Federation’s expansion in this region. ‘Starbase 77’ here doesn’t exactly have a reputation as a cutting-edge facility, so I’ll have to keep that in mind when dealing with him, she mentally noted.

“Good. I and my staff would like to meet with yours at the earliest convenient moment to draw up a plan of operations for the resources being assigned to this base.”

Tarah thought she detected surprise from him at her not simply ordering such a meeting, but no trace of it was evident in his reply.

“We can meet immediately, Captain. Everything has been made ready for your arrival.”

Taking him at his word spoke well of his leadership style. However, it did not mesh with the widely-held opinion that this base was poorly run; after all, it was supposed to have been on-line as a fully functional starbase over ten years ago. “Very good, Commander. Send us your beam-down coordinates and we will be with you momentarily.

“Understood, Sir.”

“I am authorising shore leave for my crew also. Where is an appropriate location for their arrival?”

“This planet is uninhabited, Captain, and there are no large predators for hundreds of kilometres around the base. They can beam down wherever they please,” Skallash stated bluntly. “However, if they want to visit my base, there is an assembly area twenty metres north of the colony hub that is used for arrivals. We don’t expect your crew to check in with us as long as someone knows where they are.”

My, being replaced as SO is really cooling his mud, isn’t it? she noted wryly. Ignoring it for now, she merely acknowledged his words. “Very well. Beam-downs will commence shortly. We look forward to working with you. Fearless, out.”

Paochinda cut the comm. channel and the planet reappeared on the viewscreen.

Khaleel commented dryly, “Who shall we be taking into this warm welcome?”

Shooting her XO a warning look, Tarah ignored his comment and answered his question. “The XO, Commander Stanhope, and Lieutenants T’Serris, Paochinda, and Frunzeti will accompany me to the surface to meet Commander Skallash and his people. Commander kar-Tachek, you have the conn.”

“Aye-aye, Captain, I have the conn,” the Fearless’ chief science officer answered dutifully.

“Mr. Paochinda, put me on all-call, please,” she ordered next.

“Aye Captain. You’re on,” the comm. officer responded.

“This is the Captain,” she announced. “We have arrived at Aljetarius and so shore leave is now authorised on the schedule drawn up by the XO. I want you all to take full advantage of this opportunity and have some fun. Go feel the sun on your face. Captain out.”

Getting up from the command chair, Sheltarah stated, “Let’s go.”

“Aye-aye, Sir,” Khaleel replied for all of them, whereupon the other enumerated personnel called their reliefs in and secured their consoles, then joined their senior officers in the turbolift.

Narumba took her place in the captain’s chair and sat primly upright in it. Gazing at the orbital image of Aljetarius, the Arkenite’s expressionless face hid her fantasising about ordering warp speed in the direction of the unknown.

Tarah and her party rematerialised at the co-ordinates that Skallash had specified and found that they were apparently the assembly area he’d mentioned as a beam-down point for shore leave parties. Tarah had decided to give the surly Tellarite enough rope to either pull himself up or hang himself, but with this event — which seemed like a calculated insult — the line was paying out fast.

Taking in the expanse of the base, with its thermocrete aprons and assortment of buildings, the tall Andorian noted and approved of the layout of the myriad structures she could see from in front of the stage two colony hub. Whatever issues the Tellarite had, he was apparently good at his job. So why the bad rep for this base? Tarah was left wondering, becoming more and more curious about it. From his personnel file, Skallash has been base CO since ’94. Something’s just not right here.

“Nice planet,” a deep baritone commented briefly, and Sheltarah recognised the mournful tones of Teodor Frunzeti, her tactical officer.

“Looks like it,” Khaleel agreed. “Reminds me of home.”

“Your pardon, Commander,” T’Serris stated in her usual quiet tones. “I thought you came from a desert region?”

“Oh, indeed I do, Lieutenant,” Khaleel nodded. “But over a hundred years ago new irrigation techniques were introduced and now Iraq has parks and boulevards to rival any European nation.”

“Except mine,” Teodor commented, again mournfully. He rarely spoke in any other way.

“Yes, Lieutenant, except yours,” Khaleel agreed with a grin, recognising the Romanian’s ‘deadpan-plus’ style of humour.

Taking in the sweep of distant forests, jagged mountain ranges, and the hardy-looking scrub grass, Lieutenant Commander Mark Stanhope disagreed. “This place resembles the moors of northern England more than a lush European forest, Commander.”

“That’s what I was thinking, Commander,” Teodor returned.

Tarah couldn’t help but be struck by how Mark Stanhope’s chipper English accent contrasted with the Romanian’s dourness and how she got almost exactly the same effect from their physical appearance. When the tall, swarthy, black-haired, and dark brown-eyed tactical officer stood next to the average height, pale skin, sandy-brown hair, and blue eyes of the Chief of Ship Operations, they almost looked like negative images of each other.

“Let’s go meet our hosts,” she announced, and the chatter died as they walked two-by-two into the colony hub in search of the recalcitrant base commander. Having to do so further rubbed Tarah up the wrong way as Skallash and/or one of his staff should have been out here to at least greet her party. This was just another not-so-subtle means of disrespecting her and she’d had enough of it. Unless a sudden emergency has revealed itself, I’m giving the surly little cur some new skin.

Finding their way into the hub’s command centre through sheer familiarity with the sixty-year-old design’s standardised layout, her eyes were flinty chips of violet ice when they finally lit on the base’s CO sitting in his command chair at the centre of the room. The colony hub’s operations centre was designed like a starship’s bridge because of the sheer efficiency and functionality of the layout.

On hearing the doors swish open and still without turning to face them, Skallash commented gruffly, “Good, you’re here. Follow me to the conference room, Captain. My staff have assembled their briefing materials there.”

His actions infuriated her even as his words mollified her. It occurred to her then that this might be the reason Skallash had been assigned to this remote posting in the first place, and why the base got its decade-plus bad reputation as a poor joke and model of incompetent administration. Perhaps he wasn’t slighting her at all and this was merely who he really was, and it had cut off too many people’s antennae. Deciding to hold off on hauling off at him, she merely nodded and followed him out of a second set of doors, her team trailing her like ducklings after their mother. Casually, she asked, “Any particular reason we had to find our own way here, Commander?”

Skallash’s shoulders twitched slightly and he released a short breath. Turning to face her at last, he asked, “Captain, don’t tell me you need the same type of hand-holding that Humans do?”

Tarah resisted the urge to both chuckle and snap at the stout Tellarite for his attitude. Allowing an edge to creep into her voice, she retorted, “Hand-holding is not required, Skallash, but courtesy is usually at least extended.”

He turned away and resumed his walk. Her sensitive hearing easily picked up his muttered, “Hand-holding it is, then.”

Tarah kept her peace, but for some odd reason a smirk kept tugging at her lips.

Moments later they all trooped into the conference room, whereupon Skallash, with a dangerous gleam in his eyes, introduced his half-dozen staff.

“Captain, officers of the Fearless, allow me to present my senior crew,” he began, his gruffness replaced by an almost Human cheerfulness. “Lieutenant Commander Sarok, my chief of operations.”

Tarah’s group nodded or otherwise acknowledged the small-framed Vulcan male, who inclined his homely-featured, sandy brown-haired head at them in return.

Tarah got the impression that Sarok’s Vulcan genes had some Human elements among them.

“Lieutenant Tor’la’feng, my logistics officer,” Skallash stated next, indicating the Saurian female to Sarok’s left. Tor’la bobbed her head in a bird-like motion and blinked her large lidless yellow eyes in welcome.

“Lieutenant Httee’uza Oojo’af, my science officer.”

“Captain,” the large, imposing Betelgeusian stated in a surprisingly mild voice, then nodded in the Human manner to the rest of her party to acknowledge them.

“Lieutenant Llyr Jones, my tactical officer,” Skallash continued down the table.

The lanky, brown-haired, brown-eyed Human offered her an open, friendly grin and after acknowledging her officers said, “Hello, Captain. Starfleet’s finally sending in the big boys, eh?”

That earned him a nasty glare from the Tellarite, which the JG seemed blithely unaware of. Tarah couldn’t place the man’s lyrical, almost sing-song accent with its rolling vowels, but his name sounded vaguely Romulan. Maybe he’s from one of the Terran colonies, she thought idly while returning his smile but offering no more than a nod in response to his to his apparently contentious question.

“My chief medical officer, Lieutenant Kimberly Madsen.” The Human woman with butter-blonde hair and startling grey eyes nodded curtly at Tarah, her arms folded in front of her in a classic Human stance of defensiveness. Expressionless, Tarah offered her a small nod of her own as she momentarily locked gazes with the apparently discombobulated American.

“And Lieutenant Bruce Foster, my engineer,” Skallash said finally, rounding off the introductions.

“G’day, Capt’n Taarah,” the deeply tanned Human boomed in a voice that filled the room with its boisterous good cheer. “Glad t’have you with us, Sir,” he added with a wink for her benefit as he grasped her hand in a firm but controlled grip.

Momentarily confused, Sheltarah wasn’t sure if the man was initiating a courting ritual or just trying to get a reaction from his CO based on the Tellarite’s reaction to Jones’ words.

Even after such a reaction materialised, Tarah still wasn’t sure. As Skallash glowered at his engineer in overt disapproval, the Andorian captain took in Bruce’s broad chest and biceps, short, artfully tousled, sandy-blonde hair, twinkling sky-blue eyes, and chiselled good looks. Not bad at all — for a young Human, Tarah mentally assessed him with an internal smirk. She disengaged her hand from Bruce’s with a restrained display of Andorian strength and a minutely raised gossamer eyebrow, and caught the slight deepening of the Australian’s wide grin, his perfectly even white teeth very much in evidence.

She swept her eyes over the base crew. “It’s good to meet you all, and I and my officers look forward to working with you,” she stated diplomatically.

Turning to face her own crew, she did the rounds there and the meeting finally got down to business.

“The Fearless and her soon-to-arrive cohorts have been assigned to this region to patrol the Nirophian Corridor and ensure the safety of all Federation shipping, offer aid to any who request it, assist in the complete and in-depth mapping of the Corridor’s sectors, perform preliminary studies of Sector 16447, and the defence of this base,” Sheltarah began after everyone was seated. “To facilitate this, in the first few weeks Fearless will be deploying subspace booster relays down the length of the Corridor. Not only will this help us maintain contact with this base, it will be invaluable as a lifeline for the less powerful transmitters aboard civilian shipping in the event they do fall into trouble. The frequencies and other technical specifications for these relays will be supplied by Lieutenant Paochinda.”

Tarah again noticed Skallash’s unsubtle glower at her mention of “maintaining contact”. Him and I will have words shortly, the Andorian vowed in concealed irritation.

“That’s the ‘what’ of it. Here is how we’re going to do it,” she moved on. “We’re here to gain your local knowledge of spatial conditions and features, and your knowledge and insight into the civilisations in this region and that of the Corridor and its far side, Sector 16447. From this we can map out task dependencies, and patrol routes and schedules that maximise our availability and minimise response times in case of an emergency or hostile action. Though the other ships have yet to arrive, I want a framework that those captains can modify if need be but that they can slot their ships right into as soon as they arrive if not.

“Let’s get to it, then.”

Heads nodded around the table, and the planning began in earnest.

Several hours later, Sheltarah sat in Skallash’s office after securing a private meeting with him. Adopting an approach more in line with Tellarite social conventions, the highly irritated Andorian bluntly fired off her opening barrage.

“You complain and whine worse than any petulant Terran child,” she barked frostily at him. “I am now the senior officer on this duty station. You may not like it, but you will accept it and my direct authority over you. Are you tracking that?”

Skallash glowered and beetled his brows at her, but muttered, “Yes, Captain.”

Tarah glared at him. “I gave you plenty of opportunities to shape this event in a way most suited to you, but instead you chose to sulk. Now you reap your reward,” she grated out. “Aljetarius is yours to command as you see fit and I never intended that any other way. Just make sure you have whatever I ask for, when I ask for it.”

She expected him to bluster and offer useless objections such as “You have no right!” — which, quite obviously, she did — but instead he merely nodded angrily and continued to be flayed by his own personal ice-storm.

Now more puzzled than annoyed, Tarah felt she wasn’t reaching him. Giving him a last chance to state his case, she told him, “Unless you have something you want or need to say, we’re done here.”

Sheltarah waited but nothing was forthcoming. The disrespectful little shax didn’t even seem to be listening to her.

Fine, she snarled inwardly and launched herself up from her chair.

The motion finally shook a reaction loose from Skallash. “Captain,” he rumbled.

Halfway to his door already, Tarah spun and impaled him on a flinty glare and waited.

Elbows on his desk and staring down at its surface, he joined the tips of his fingers and looked up to meet her eyes. “I… apologise. I have no quarrel with you personally.”

It was Tarah’s turn to stay silent and wait.

“I now accept what I cannot change. You’ll have my full co-operation.”

Taking a measured pause to gauge his sincerity, she finally replied, “Thank you, Commander.”

Reading the message in her silence, Skallash nodded again.

Still speaking firmly but now with a hint of warmth, she added, “I will be available to you should you need to speak with me. I will not be perched on your shoulder observing your every action; I have my own duties and I expect you to continue doing yours without interference from me.

“Are we clear?”

“We’re clear, Captain,” Skallash returned in a more naturally gruff tone. “Are you able to find your own way back out, or do you need me to hold your hand again?”

Tarah surprised herself by chuckling at the irascible base commander. She also sensed him relax more as she did.

“No hand-holding will be needed, Commander,” she told him with a hint of a smile in her otherwise even voice.

“Are you sure, Sir? I’m sure my engineer would be more than happy to help you in that regard. He seemed very fond of your hand when he met you,” Skallash commented archly.

Tarah laughed aloud this time, and replied, “Yes, he did rather.” She shook her head, retaining her amused smile, then exited the office feeling considerably more satisfied and at ease with the situation than she had on going in. Maybe working with the painful little nerf-herder won’t be so bad after all.

Chapter Three

          Captain’s Personal Log, stardate 12306.45.

          After five days of planning our operational deployments, emergency procedures and 
          logistics needs with Commander Skallash and his staff, the Fearless is ready for 
          her mission in the Corridor. I have found Skallash’s staff to be an eclectic group but 
          they have an undeniable synergy in line with the finest ideals of the Federation. Our 
          differing viewpoints, values, and mindsets combined to make short work of our 
          understanding of the tasks before us and the steps we need to take to accomplish them. I
          feel fully confident in the ability of Aljetarius to ‘have our back’, as the Humans say.

          Five says of shore leave on a planet offering both modern conveniences and more 
          primitive pursuits has done good things with crew morale. Already high, the rock-
          climbing, white-water rafting, bird watching, rambling, paragliding, and numerous other 
          outdoors activities have left the crew with many more stories to regale their colleagues
          with as well as fulfilling their appetite for “fun” activities dangerous to life and 
          limb. Suffice it to say that crew morale is as high as it has ever been. 

          I myself — as well as my fellow planning staff — were also able to take 
          advantage of this untamed M-class planet’s many benefits. My own trip to the southern 
          polar region was a welcome reminder of home after the constant tropical beach environment
          of the ship’s common areas.

          I’m just glad I went alone. It wouldn’t have done my dignity any good for even my fellow 
          Andorians to see their captain rolling around naked in the dry, powder-fine snow just 
          — as the Terrans say — ‘for the Hell of it’.          

“It looks like play-time is over,” Frédéric Daquillon observed cheerfully to his second in command.

“Sir?” Lieutenant Eitan Ben-Eliyatin asked from the chair across the security chief’s office, looking up from his data slate.

“The captain has scheduled a department heads’ meeting for 0830 tomorrow,” Daquillon elaborated. “Looks like it’ll be a briefing on the Nirophians.”

Eitan rolled his eyes at his superior. “This means you’ll be scheduling a meeting for us to attend around, let’s say, 1000 hours, Sir?”

Frédéric grinned at his assistant. “How well you know me already, Lieutenant. It shall indeed be so. Arrange that for me, will you please? I have many other pressing duties that require my direct attention.”

Such as making sure our newly puffed-up ChEng doesn’t discover your home wine-brewing kit? the Israeli didn’t say, smothering a grin at the thought. Displaying instead a sufficiently put-upon expression, he replied long-sufferingly, “But of course, monsieur, as the ‘Assistant’ in my job title means only that I do your paperwork and not that I’m your ever-valuable second-in-command. Sir.”

Perfect! Eitan thought happily. With these extra moves I’ve learned, you’re going down hard this time, Boss! Assuming a confident pose, he replied airily, “If you want to subject yourself to that much exercise, who is this lowly personal assistant to deny you, Sir?”

Grinning predatorily, Frédéric stood up. “After you, Lieutenant,” he instructed, gesturing courteously towards the door.

“You boys play too hard, you know that?” Doctor Cao complained. “I get nothing but sprains, torn ligaments, wrenched joints, and blunt-force trauma from you. Shouldn’t you grow up a bit and learn when to quit?”

Eitan and Frédéric rolled their eyes at each other behind the CMO’s back at the familiar litany — which she gave without fail when both of them showed up on her doorstep like this — but then Daquillon varied from their usual routine.

“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly, Doctor, but, well, some people just don’t have the maturity and wisdom they really need,” Frédéric replied, then snorted in laughter at Eitan’s mixed expression of outrage and embarrassment.

Min-Hua sighed like a teacher at recalcitrant pupils as she ran the deep tissue regenerator over Ben-Eliyatin’s multiple but minor injuries. “That’s you all patched up again, Lieutenant, but you will be stiff and a little sore for several more hours so take it easy until the stiffness fades.”

“Doc, can’t you heal it completely, or even just mask the pain?” Eitan asked, puzzled. “It doesn’t really hurt as such, it’s just a little distracting,” he qualified as he carefully worked the affected joints to test his freedom of movement.

“Normally I would, Lieutenant, but not this time,” she replied.

“What?! Why not?” the Israeli exclaimed indignantly.

“But, Doc…” he protested weakly.

“You heard the lady, Mr. Ben-Eliyatin. Let’s go.”

Eitan blew out a frustrated sight, but he hopped off the diagnostic bed as ordered.

“Don’t worry, Doctor, I’m sure he’s learned his lesson. Again. At least for a short while,” Daquillon stated with bitingly dry humour.

Eitan winced, but not from any of his injuries.

Shepherding him out of Sickbay, the lithe, wiry Frenchman told him, “Let’s get you all tucked in with a warm chocolate, Lieutenant. Then maybe I can call your mother on subspace and get her to read you a bedtime story, yes?”

It took great willpower on Eitan’s part not to rise to the bait, and he mostly succeeded but his boss could easily tell the effort it cost him.

“Just remember, Lieutenant. You may know everything I’ve taught you, but I still haven’t taught you everything I know!”

His second in command winced again and squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a moment before continuing. The Frenchman’s chuckle in his ear was like salt in the wound. He took it like a man though. I set myself up for this fall, he admitted to himself ruefully. I was so sure I had him this time! Oh well Next time, I will make absolutely sure, and then I’ll help him to Sickbay!

“Everyone all rested and fresh?” Commander Faris asked cheerfully, his customary smile in evidence and looking thoroughly refreshed himself. “Yes? Then let’s begin. I assume you all had a chance to read through the briefing materials on Nirophia, such as they are?”

Heads nodded around the conference table and more sips were taken from various morning beverages.

“That very dearth of information is something Starfleet is hoping our visit will help alleviate,” Faris continued, “but our primary objective is merely to let the Nirophians know that the Federation is now the major player in the region. We will do this by asking to visit with the Nirophian government’s officials and invite them aboard the Fearless in a standard series of formal ‘meet-and-greet’ affairs. During those events, which could be either behind closed doors meetings or public receptions, we hope to gain access for our cultural assessment teams to visit various regions across their planet.

“Due to the apparently technophobic nature of the Nirophians, this latter request could be flat-out denied. Indeed, all our requests may be denied or subject to severe restrictions. However, we must try.” Again, he smiled, though somewhat ruefully this time.

“Commander, can these cultural briefing materials even be relied upon?” Lieutenant Lin Jianchao asked immediately. Fearless’ head of social sciences continued, “These observations were taken by the Klingons, and Klingon warriors and technical specialists at that. These Klingons’ view of apparently soft-hearted, weak-kneed, anti-technology hippies was never going to be objective, and going in to meet the Nirophians with Klingon preconceptions loaded into us is probably going to turn out worse than going in with no data at all.”

Someone certainly came prepared, Faris thought even as he realised Lieutenant Lin was correct. He hadn’t even considered the built-in prejudice he himself had toward technophobes, but he couldn’t see anything wrong with properly applied technology. It had turned his home nation into a garden, after all.

Sheltarah spoke up to answer Jianchao’s concerns. Addressing the group at large, she stated, “Lieutenant Lin’s points are very good ones and I want you all to be aware of them, and cognisant of any anti-technophobe attitudes and opinions you may hold. They may end up affecting your judgement subtly and influence any observations you make. This is one of the reasons I decided to share these briefing materials instead of going in knowing nothing. So please take note of the tone and language of the Klingon reports. While they are a product of their environment, this kind of reporting should be avoided.”

Sheltarah noted several faces around the table twist slightly into indignant expressions that all but shouted “I know how to be more objective than a Klingon!” The Andorian knew of the Terran phrase “It goes without saying”, but her own culture had no equivalent. To communicate and operate effectively, all assumptions must be stated.

“Commander?” she prompted, and Khaleel resumed the briefing.

“Since the Klingon presence on this world was apparently so minimal, we have high hopes that the Nirophians will not be traumatised into xenophobia as so many less advanced former Klingon subject worlds have been. The shock of learning intelligent alien life exists should be long gone as the Klingons occupied this world almost one hundred years ago. However, it is also possible that — due to it being such a small detachment in only one area of the planet — the majority of the population might believe the Klingons were an invention by their own government to force through contentious policies.”

Khaleel swept his blue eyes across the assembled staff and was pleased, taking in their thoughtful expressions.

“We cannot rule anything out,” he further drove home the point. “While the government and population near the Klingon base will be aware of alien life, it is highly probable that any other areas we may want to visit will be unprepared for aliens to show up. Indeed, this may be used as actual reasoning to keep our visits limited.”

Security Chief Daquillon spoke up. “I was wondering if you had any further information on about the threat environment on the ground? The Klingons cited no examples of attacks on their contingent, but that alleged ‘report’ doesn’t say if this was because they’d instilled fear of reprisals in their normal way or that the population was mostly peaceful, totally pacifistic, or utterly disinterested.”

Faris responded apologetically. “I don’t have that information, Commander, I’m sorry. However, the Klingon report does specifically state that they never scanned or saw any personal weaponry on the Nirophians when they were encountered.”

“That report also specifically states weapons were banned even for personal bodyguards of high government officials and religious figures, Sir,” Daquillon countered. “What I’m trying to say is this: do we have a population with access to weapons who don’t want any aliens on their world?”

“Again, we have insufficient information to answer that question,” Faris replied.

Then why are we even having this alleged “briefing”? Frédéric wondered somewhat grumpily.

Someone else obviously held the same opinion, as Lin spoke up again. “Commander, if our information is so limited that you cannot answer any questions we may have—”

“That’s an incorrect assumption,” Khaleel interrupted smoothly, and the sociologist fell silent. “While it is true that we have no further data on the Nirophians themselves, we are here to plan for contingencies and emergencies. We may find them all useless on finally contacting the Nirophians, but perhaps not, or perhaps our plans can be adapted. So, if you have no further objections, Lieutenant…?”

Jianchao sat back and grimaced. “My apologies, Commander. I… dislike having unreliable and limited data.”

As the meeting broke up, Khaleel turned to Sheltarah and gave her a pointed look at the good-natured griping of their department heads just before the conference room doors slid shut on their chatter.

“Well, everyone seems to think that this was a worthwhile and highly productive…” He exaggeratedly checked his wrist chrono and continued, “…seventy-six minutes.”

His captain quirked an irritated look back at him. “My officers are such…” She groped for an appropriate Human term, found one. “Such cry-babies. You’d think none of them had been on a true exploratory mission before.”

“Some of them haven’t, coming straight from interior patrols or the Academy,” Faris pointed out what she already knew. “I just think that none of them have been party to a meeting where we sat down and discussed how little we know,” he informed her tartly.

“Then apparently none of them have served under an Andorian captain in an exploratory capacity before, either,” she shot back, snapping her eyes around to lock gazes with her exec. “You Humans, you’re so sure you can handle whatever you blunder into, where just a single hour of making sure we all know what each other is thinking and preparing contingencies can sometimes prevent any blundering at all!”

“Captain, Humans practically invented bureaucracy, red tape, and focus groups all on our own, which we then exported throughout the galaxy. I’m just making the point that meetings which involve nothing but unanswered questions and common-sense contingency planning are regarded as a waste of time and as such subtly affects crew morale,” Faris explained placatingly.

“Then that attitude will change,” Sheltarah stated flatly. “I’ve seen too many instances in my career to date where a briefing such as this would have prevented a crisis from developing or needless casualties being incurred. I vowed that when I got my own command I’d make sure that those preventable casualties and crises would be prevented. And so they shall, Commander!”

Khaleel backed down and nodded his acceptance. “Understood, Captain. Thank you for explaining your reasoning; the crew will find it easier to adapt knowing this.”

Sheltarah gave him a wintry smile. “I trust I won’t need to continually explain my reasons throughout my whole captaincy just because I don’t do things the Human way?”

Khaleel wisely left that one alone.

Sheltarah noted it and her smile turned wry. “Dismissed, Commander.”

Khaleel nodded respectfully and left the room. She’s somewhat touchy on the dominance of the Human way of doing things. Which is a bit funny considering how the Federation began, he mused on his way back to the bridge, feeling slightly concerned. I may have to keep an eye on this. She might just be having an off day, after all. He shook his head to set aside those thoughts and stepped onto the turbolift.

“Now approaching Nirophia, Captain,” T’Serris announced to an intensely interested bridge crew.

“Establish high orbit please, T’Serris,” Sheltarah instructed. “I don’t want to advertise our arrival just yet. Tactical scan, Mr. Frunzeti?”

“No hostile signatures detected, Captain,” Teodor’s deep voice issued from behind her. “Nothing recognisable as a weapon system, and we are not being scanned. It is unknown, however, if we are being tracked by passive means such as optically.”

Sheltarah almost felt surprised by such a verbose report from her normally tight-lipped tactical officer. Perhaps our briefing did have the deserved effect after all, she considered. “Commander kar-Tachek, sensor sweep. What can you tell us about local space?” she asked next.

“From the Klingon presence?” Sheltarah asked, drawing the obvious conclusion.

The ever-literal Arkenite replied, “It is possible that the debris is due to the Klingons’ presence, Captain, but the materials indicate non-Klingon origins.”

Faris’ eyebrows shot up and Sheltarah nodded thoughtfully, but avoided early speculation by further asking, “And the planet itself?”

“Scanning now, Captain,” Narumba responded. Five minutes later she had a preliminary report. “Reading approximately four billion inhabitants planet-wide. 99.99% spread across four of the five temperate continents with the remainder scattered in small settlements in both polar regions. Of major note, Captain, is the fifth continent in the temperate zone. It appears completely barren of higher life-forms. Sensors are detecting trace amounts of radiation from its south-west coast. Levels are too low to immediately classify. I’ll require more time to identify it.”

“Interesting,” Sheltarah commented, sharing a look with her XO. “I doubt the presence of that radiation and the lack of inhabitants will turn out to be coincidental,” she opined.

Khaleel nodded his agreement. “Too many possible causes and combinations of events to speculate usefully at this time, though,” he thought aloud.

Sheltarah’s violet eyes narrowed minutely at his comment but decided to let it pass after detecting no hidden meaning or message there. Damnit, getting paranoid now, she realised, annoyed at herself. Shaking it off, she looked back to her science officer and enquired, “Observable technology?”

“No high technology detected Captain, but the night side across the terminator shows widespread and extensive lighting in use. Tracing the power lines now…” Within a few moments she’d localised the nearest night-side city’s power source and put it up on the main viewer. “Hydroelectric power, Sir.”

“So they do have electricity,” Faris observed, puzzled. “How does a technophobic, nature-worshipping culture develop electricity in the first place?”

“I assume you mean, ‘how did they get beyond the wooden waterwheel and sails for their sea vessels’, Commander?” Sheltarah asked.

Faris nodded briefly.

“Isn’t your own world replete with civilisations which rose and fell from various levels of development?” his captain asked. “Civilisations that died out and their technology, art, literature all lost to the ravages of time, so that other completely removed civilisations had to redevelop these exact same concepts at their own pace?”

“True, true,” Faris commented thoughtfully. “But those were always far more primitive societies that did not reach their industrial revolution.” He looked set to continue, but fell silent at correctly interpreting his captain’s wish to speak.

“The obvious alternative is a technological stagnation and regression. The Federation has encountered many of these civilisations over the years. Just look at planet C-111 Beta, for example,” she stated firmly, before turning to kar-Tachek again. “Commander, do you have any more information for us to aid in our speculations?”

Kar-Tachek shook off the somewhat ramshackle reporting style now that she actually had a firm query to respond to. “Captain, we are detecting hundreds of population centres of half-a-million people or more and thousands of smaller habitations. Mass transit systems have been detected, but some appear long abandoned. Major transportation networks exist in and between these population centres in the form of roads of varying capacity, and all of them are showing extensive usage,” the Arkenite began her recital, her oddly echoing electronic voice crisp and clear. “Readings indicate hundreds of hydroelectric power stations as well as several first-stage geothermal power taps, extensive use of second-stage solar collector fields and second-stage wind turbine farms. Many pastoral areas show evidence of extensive farming and advanced irrigation methods, and primitive windmills are in widespread use.

“Cities show evidence of extensive infrastructure, including communications systems such as wired telephone lines and wireless cell phone towers, electricity to apparently every household, residential, commercial, industrial and administrative zones, as well as parks and other recreational facilities. We are also detecting radio transmissions across the oceans between the various continental masses. No aircraft have been detected thus far.

“Finally, the uninhabited continent is not completely lifeless. Many low-order flora and fauna are present, with the largest concentrations extending from the continent’s north-east coast. Further, several hundred Nirophians are present around the irradiated zone, though no structures are in evidence there. They appear to have arrived on a large ocean-going vessel.”

She brought the ship up on the main viewscreen and the scale of the orbital view put the ship at about the same length as a Miranda-class.

“This concludes my preliminary report, Sirs.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Sheltarah acknowledged her science officer’s efforts. “Mr. Paochinda, have your department begin data acquisition and build a language database from their intercepted transmissions.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” the compact Thai man responded.

“A wise decision, Captain,” Khaleel commented. “There is no point relying on the Klingons’ limited translation algorithms if the rest of their data is this incomplete or faulty.”

“Yes,” Sheltarah nodded. “I don’t want to hail their leaders to request their permission to land on their planet and sound like I’m demanding their unconditional surrender,” she stated wryly.

Anupong swung back around from his console. “I should disregard the Klingon data sources for our analysis then, Captain?” he asked.

“Yes, Anu. I want an independent database completely free from Klingon speech patterns and underlying concepts. We can compare them again after your people have gained their own understanding of how the Nirophians speak their own languages.”

Paochinda nodded crisply. “Understood, Captain. This may take several additional hours to complete, though, as we are starting from nothing.”

“I realise that, Lieutenant,” she responded equably. “I prefer having an accurate translation matrix and floating in space for a few extra hours to rushing down and having these people see us as no different from the Klingons because of how we speak. As you Humans say, ‘first impressions are important’.”

Paochinda returned to his task of capturing the Nirophians’ transmissions, but then kar-Tachek spoke up.

“Captain, should I begin high-intensity close-in scans for cultural analysis?”

Sheltarah sighed. “No Commander, you should not,” she replied regretfully.

Though kar-Tachek’s electronically-produced voice held little in the way of emotion, her captain had no trouble reading her disappointment as the scientist turned back to her scanners.

Khaleel and Sheltarah shared a look of mutual commiseration. Federation law and Starfleet regulations were quite specific in this regard. Since they were approaching the Nirophians as equals — and not, for example, as covert cultural observers who wished not to reveal themselves as aliens — such close observation constituted an invasion of privacy and an activity that must have permission granted from the planetary leaders before it commenced. In line with the Federation’s ideals and policies, just because the Fearless could scan the Nirophians in exacting detail and the Nirophians couldn’t stop them, it didn’t mean that they should. It was the difference between someone looking at you in the street and having that someone enter your home and rifle through your personal possessions while you weren’t there.

“Mr. Faris, call a department heads’ meeting with the same attendance as previously, and we’ll examine what information we now have.”

To Be Continued...